


Shut Your Eyes

by jouissant



Category: Låt den rätte komma in | Let the Right One In (2008), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is 12 years old. He's been 12 for over 200 years, and he just moved in next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shut Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fairly loose adaptation of the 2008 Swedish film _Låt den rätte komma in_ (Let the Right One In), which is easily one of my favorite movies. It's a horror film, it's a vampire movie, it's a love story, it's beautiful and stark. It's not necessary to have seen the film to enjoy the fic, but if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend checking it out. Title and cut text from "No Sound But The Wind" by Editors.
> 
> (Cut text at LJ was "Our blood is cold and we're alone, but I'm alone with you.")

It was winter when Jim first saw him. The winter when all those people went missing, the winter when everything changed. But Jim wouldn't think of it like that until much later. It had been winter for a long time, and Jim didn't like it. He was bored, mostly. He wanted to leave the apartment block behind, roam and play in the green woods. But it was dark by four o'clock these days, and the woods were jagged and black like rotten teeth against the sky.

"In by five," his mother said. "Jimmy, don't argue with me."

"No, Mom," he replied. But it wasn't fair. Sam got to walk home from the bus stop all alone after swim practice, and that had to be at least six.

"Sam is older," his mother said, wiping at her eyes. "Honey, please." She went into the tiny kitchen to make dinner. Jim heard the click click click of the pilot light, the whoosh of the gas.

***

The courtyard was covered in snow, save the corroded frame of a jungle gym standing in the middle. Old red paint flaked off on Jim's hands as he swung up to the top. After two years here, he was almost too tall for it. Next winter he would be, but today Jim thought only of spring. He squinted up hard into the white sky, straining for a sliver of blue, but he only got a snowflake in the eye for his trouble. It stung, and he reached up to rub the pain away, eyes watering.

So when he saw the boy, it was through a haze of tears. He stood in the blue shadows cast by an overhanging balcony, looking up to the sky like he was testing water with his big toe. Jim heard him take a deep breath. Then he stepped out into the white.

"Hey," Jim called. The boy flinched and shrunk back into the shadows. He was a bit shadowy looking himself, thought Jim, all dark hair and deep purplish-green smudges under his brown eyes. He reminded Jim of his mother in the mornings, after her shifts.

"Wanna play?"

The boy considered Jim. He was right to be cautious, Jim thought, remembering old bruises. That's what you got around here if you weren't careful.

"It's okay," Jim said. The boy nodded. He took a step toward the jungle gym, then another. He was slight, and his feet barely marked the fresh snow. When he reached the frame, he held out a hand and ran his fingers gently over the rusted, icy metal.

"Be careful," Jim said. "Chrissie from 4B got her tongue stuck to it once."

"Metal is inedible," said the boy in a tone that told Jim exactly what he thought of Chrissie from 4B.

"That's what I told her. You new around here?"

"Yes. My father and I arrived here 3.4 days ago."

"My name's Jim," Jim said, reaching down from his perch atop the climbing frame. The boy looked at his outstretched fingers, then back up at Jim. He did not remove his hands from his pockets.

"I am Spock," he said.

It was a weird name, and it made Jim smile. Spock looked up at him like he was figuring out whether or not he needed to run. "You coming up here or what?"

Spock did.

***  
Jim hadn't had a friend in a long time. He had one at the old place. Jim used to think about Leonard a lot back when they first moved. He wrote him letters, long letters about the strange animal sounds he heard at night and the fort he was going to build when it got warm enough and how Sam had friends already but the other kids just thought Jim was weird and maybe Leonard could come visit if his parents said it was okay.

He gave the envelopes to his mother to mail because he didn't know Leonard's address. But maybe Leonard moved too, or the letters got lost, because he never wrote back.

Anyway, Spock was his friend now. He thought. Maybe. He was there in the courtyard every day after school, at least, and he stayed with Jim until dark, when Jim had to go in. They made snowmen one day, and Spock drew long almond-shaped ears on his, dragging his gloved finger through the snow.

"Ears don't look like that," Jim said.

Spock didn't reply.

Later, after Jim had said goodbye and gone inside, he knelt on the living room sofa and pulled the curtain aside. He rubbed a hole in the foggy glass with the edge of his sleeve and peered outside. In the blue twilight, he could see a small figure standing beside the looming snowmen. Jim leaned closer, nose pressing against the window. Spock reached up and smoothed the side of his snowman's head. The next day its ears matched Jim's.

***

"Where do you come from?'' Jim asked Spock. They had made a snow fort and were huddled inside. Jim had leftover cookies from his lunch, and they were only a little bit crumbly. He offered one to Spock, who shook his head.

"Far away," Spock said. "Where do you come from?"

"Iowa," Jim said. "We used to live there on a farm. Well, my mom and dad and Sam did, before I was born. Then I was born and my dad died and we had to move away." Jim didn't really understand how all these things had happened, only that they had.

"That is unfortunate," said Spock.

"Yeah," Jim said. "My mom's sad a lot. And tired."

He'd never told anyone that before. It had just sort of come out. He wondered if Spock would make fun of him for not having a dad.But Spock appeared to be lost in thought. "What does it mean, to be 'sad'?" he asked after awhile.

"You know, sad. Like when you cry?"

Spock looked quizzical. He shook his head.

"I guess it's like…like an empty feeling here," he said, resting a hand on his chest. "Like something's gone missing, and you don't know how to find it again."

"Ah," said Spock, as if he understood. "Then I suppose that I sometimes feel sad also."

"What do you miss?" Jim asked.

Spock put a hand on his chest and closed his eyes, his brows knitting in concentration. "My mother," he said at last. "And my home."

Jim scooted closer, until their knees were touching. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You are responsible for neither my mother's death nor my presence here," Spock said. "Your apology is illogical."

"I know," said Jim. "It's just…it's what you say."

***  
The next day was sunny. After school, Jim waited for Spock out by the jungle gym. He waited all afternoon. He even saved his leftover cookies just in case Spock wanted some. But Spock never came, and finally the sun dipped low behind the rotten-teeth trees, and Jim heard his mother call. He left the packet of cookies on a flat piece of wood beside the remains of their snow fort. The next morning, when he crossed the courtyard on the way to the bus stop, the packet was gone. In its place was a small, flat red stone. Jim picked it up and turned it over in his hand. It felt curiously warm. He put it in his pocket.

That day was sunny, too. The snow melted in sparkling little rivulets along the asphalt, gutters rushing like mountain streams. On the walk home, Jim took off his hat and gloves and shoved them into a pocket. He raised his face to the sun and smiled.

"Hey, Kirk!"

_No,_ Jim thought. _Please. Not today._

"Where do you think you're going?"

Jim put his head down and walked on. He could hear the wet smack of sneakers on the street as they ran to catch up. He looked over his shoulder. Gary again, with four of his friends. Jim wished Sam hadn't had practice today.

"I'm going home," he called back.

_"I'm going hooooome,"_ Gary singsonged. "What're you gonna do at home, play with your dolls and wait for your mommy?"

Gary's mother didn't have to work. They lived in the big white house on the hill, and she was probably waiting at the door with cookies and hot chocolate at that very moment.

"Poor Jimmy, his mommy's never home."

"I heard she has to work _two_ jobs."

"I heard she works nights out at that bar on the highway, the one where the waitresses don't wear any--"

Jim spun around and launched himself at the jeering knot of boys. He landed on top of Gary in the gutter, leaves and snowmelt all over them both. Unfortunately, he wasn't especially big for eleven, and he was rather handily outnumbered. Gary flipped him easily, and the Komack twins held him down. Gary drew back, leering like an animal, and punched Jim in the face. A warm wad of saliva followed Gary's fist, and then they were gone. He heard their laughter die off down the street.

Jim dragged himself up onto the frozen verge, where he lay for a very long time. Hot blood ran down his throat, and he choked, wiping it away as best he could. Finally, the flow began to slow, then stop, and Jim sat up. The shadows were lengthening, and it was almost full dark by the time he got home. The snow fort stood ruined, covered in boot prints. He had his hand on the front door of the building when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Spock stepped out of the shadows, looking green and sickly under the yellow glare of the streetlight. Jim thought the circles under his eyes looked worse.

"Jim?"

"Where were you yesterday? I waited for like two hours, but then I had to go in."

"My father has fallen ill," Spock said. "I could not leave him."

"Why're you out now then?"

Spock shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "He sent me on an errand," he said.

"You shouldn't walk around at night by yourself," Jim said. "They found a woman out in the woods last week. My mom read it in the paper." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "She was _dead_."

"I will be quick," Spock said. He stepped closer, peering at Jim's face. "What happened to your nose?"

"It's nothing. I tripped and fell."

Spock looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn't.

"I better go inside," Jim said. "My mom's probably freaking out."

Spock nodded slowly, still staring at the congealed blood on Jim's upper lip. He took a step back, stumbling a little as he did.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

Spock nodded. "There is more snow forecast for tomorrow," he said. Then he turned and ran off into the dark.

Jim could hear the shower running when he let himself into the house. Sam was back, then. A plate sat on the kitchen counter, covered in foil, but he wasn't hungry. He took a cloth from the cupboard and turned on the kitchen sink. He dabbed at his nose gingerly, watching rust-colored water swirl down the drain until his face was mostly clean. Then he went into his room, closed the door, and crawled under the covers.

He woke up in the middle of the night. He'd been dreaming, a strange, twisting dream of running through snowy woods. He couldn't remember what he was running from, or to. He wasn't scared. Just…starving. His stomach clenched and growled, and Jim slid out of bed and crept out into the kitchen. The plate still sat on the countertop where he'd left it, and without thinking he grabbed a fork from the silverware drawer, yanked off the foil, and shoveled a huge bite of lasagna into his mouth. He ate the rest of it standing in the living room, looking out the window. Spock had been right about the weather. Outside, snow was falling.

It fell into the following afternoon, a record snowfall, said the meteorologist on Channel 12. Then they cut to breaking news, a manhunt in the woods, and Jim dropped his schoolbag and craned his neck to see. His mother changed the channel.

"Mom, can I go--"

"Dinner is at six," she said. "I don't want you out there in the dark."

"Okay, okay."

The snow had fallen so hard that Jim's teacher made them stay inside at recess, but he wasn't thinking of that now, because the gloomy sky was thick with flakes and Spock was waiting for him in the courtyard.

"How is your nose?" he asked.

"What? Oh, fine." Jim had the beginnings of a creeping bruise that he was trying not to let his mother see.

"How did you say you hurt yourself?"

"Fell. How's your dad?"

"He is improving," Spock said, genuine relief in his tone.

"Cool," Jim said. "Want to build another fort?"

This fort was grander than the first one, bolstered by the fresh snow raining steadily down on them. After an hour, and with the help of Jim's mother's shovel, they'd scraped up the drifts in the courtyard and fashioned them into walls. They were running out of snow. Spock darted into an alley that ran between Buildings A and B, and Jim followed.

"Spock? Where are you going?"

"There is more through here," he called back.

Jim peered into the alley. Spock stood silhouetted against the edge of the woods. He looked at Jim and his lips quirked into the barest hint of a smile. Jim thought he saw white teeth flashing, but then they were gone and Spock's face returned to its usual blankness.

"I don't think we should go in there," Jim said, trying to sound nonchalant, like he just couldn't be bothered to leave the courtyard.

"Jim, there is a large snow bank at the edge of the forest," Spock said. "I can see it from here. It is not far."

Jim sighed and ran into the alley after Spock. He grabbed his shoulder. "Spock, don't."

Spock shrugged him off. "Why are you so agitated?"

"There's something…they're looking for someone out there. They think whoever it is killed someone else."

Spock was quiet for a moment, staring off into the woods. His chest rose and fell, white clouding the air around his face. Then he turned back to Jim with a strange expression. "Do not be afraid," he said. Then he reached out his hand.

"I'm _not_ afraid," Jim said. But he grabbed Spock's hand and squeezed it as they ran into the trees.

***  
The police found the body the next day. He was a veterinarian from the next town over, and they found him hanging from a tree by his ankles, throat cut.

"Mom, what does 'exsanguinated' mean?" Sam asked, slathering raspberry jam on a piece of toast. He waved the knife at Jim, the red blade gleaming in the sunlight.

"For God's sake, Sam, put that down. You'll scare your brother."

"Sam doesn't scare me."

"Yeah right, you should've heard yourself last night. I had to put two pillows over my head to block you out."

His mother turned around. She was putting on an earring. "Jim, honey, did you have a nightmare?"

Jim studied his cereal. "No."

"Ugh, I can't wait 'til they catch this maniac. This is all over the news, it's the only thing they talk about and it's…it's just seeping into our subconscious minds," she said, waving her hands around. His mother had been a psychology major, and sometimes she sounded like she was reciting one of her old textbooks. She liked to quote someone named Young.

"I want both of you home right after school today," she said.

Both boys protested loudly. "Mom, come on, I have a swim meet next week."

"Mom, I told Spock I'd meet him at the playground."

Sam scoffed. "Why d'you hang around that weird little kid anyway? He doesn't even go to school."

"Poor boy," Jim's mother said. "Cooped up in that apartment all alone with his father. Do you know, Dolores brought them a pie when they first moved in and he wouldn't even answer the door? She saw him looking through the curtains." She bent to load the dishwasher.

Dolores lived two doors down, and her pies tasted like glue, so in Jim's opinion Spock and his father had had the right idea. He made a gagging motion at Sam, who laughed.

"Oh, shoot, look at the time. We're late, I'll have to drive you. Jimmy, don't forget your math homework; I don't want another phone call from Mr. Pike. Coats on! Go, go!"

***

Jim looked longingly at Spock's door as he trudged past it to his own apartment. The curtains were drawn, as they always were, and Jim paused before the living room window, wondering if he would see anyone moving inside. Everything was still and quiet, and he felt strange just standing there watching. A shiver ran up his spine as he turned and went inside.

After dinner, his mother locked them in and left for work as usual. Sam parked himself in front of the TV, watching some crime show Jim didn't like. He didn't feel like fighting Sam for the remote, so he went into his bedroom and closed the door. He sat heavily down on the bed and dragged his backpack up after him. Pulling out his history textbook, Jim leaned back against the wall and started to read. He'd gotten a quarter of the way through the unit on the Battle of Appomattox when he heard the noise.

It was a faint tapping sound, and it was coming from next door. At first he thought it was something in the wall itself, a mouse or a rat nesting there. But there was something about the noise that seemed intentional, organized somehow. Tapping, he thought. Like a signal, or a code. Wait, a code. Morse code! Jim remembered reading about it in one of Sam's books, one of the ones he'd got for Christmas the year he was obsessed with boats. Sam hadn't cared about boats for a while now, and most of his old books were on Jim's bookshelf.

_Tap tap tap_, went the sound.

Jim vaulted off the bed and searched the little red bookshelf next to his desk. There it was. He flipped to the index, to the Morse code chart Sam spent hours memorizing. He used to play submarine with the boys down the block back when they lived in Atlanta.

_ Dot dash dash dash. Dot dot. Dash dash._ He ran his finger over the chart.

_J--I--M._

Jim.

_S--P--O--C--K--?_ Jim tapped back.

_Y--E--S._

Jim grinned. He tossed his history book onto the floor.

_H--I._

_H--E--L--L--O._

They talked like that for an hour, Jim sprawled out on his side, palm pressed against the wall as he waited for Spock's next message. His mother complained about the thin walls in the building, said she could always hear the bad movies Dolores liked to watch late at night. Jim imagined Spock's hand pressed against his wall, so close. He didn't think he would mind hearing Spock through the wall.

The tapping stopped, and for a minute everything was quiet. Then Jim thought he could hear muffled movement through the wall, the sound of a door shutting, and everything went still.

Someone was knocking on his window. He felt a little spike of fear shoot through his chest, but he swallowed it and made himself slide off the bed and walk over to the window. He took a deep breath and drew back the curtain. Spock stood at the window, breath making foggy circles on the glass.

_Let me in,_ he mouthed.

Jim nodded, putting a finger to his lips. He crossed the room to his door and opened it just a crack. The television was still on, but he couldn't hear Sam out in the living room. He crept out of his room, keeping low as he rounded the kitchen. Sam was sprawled out on the couch, snoring, a textbook open on his chest. Relief flooded Jim, and he tiptoed over to the front door and unbolted it.

"Be quiet, okay?" he whispered to Spock, who nodded in return. They crept across the living room into Jim's bedroom and Jim closed the door behind them.

"That is your brother?" Spock said.

"Yeah, that's Sam. He's okay most of the time, but I don't want him to tell Mom you were here." He gave Spock a long look. His pale face seemed to glow in the dim light of   
the bedroom. "Why _are_ you here?" he asked.

Spock looked uncomfortable again. "My father is…out. I grew tired of being alone."

"Your dad works nights too? I didn't know that."

"In a manner of speaking," Spock said. Jim wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but he decided not to press it. He nodded in what he hoped looked like understanding. Then he sat down on the bed and motioned for Spock to join him.

"You want to read or something?" Jim asked.

Spock shook his head.

"Want to play a game?"

Spock considered. "Do you play chess?"

Jim did.

They played for hours, until Jim's eyelids grew unbearably heavy and he couldn't follow Spock's moves anymore. It seemed like the sleepier he got, the more he noticed that Spock didn't seem to be tired at all. In fact, as it grew later, he seemed more awake than ever. It was with disappointment that Jim tipped over his queen in final defeat. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "But I think I need to go to bed now."

Spock looked crestfallen. "In that case, I will return home," he said in a small voice. He slipped on his shoes and made for the door. His shoulders slumped, and something in Jim's chest gave a little tug.

"Wait," Jim said. "Do you…you can stay, if you want." Spock turned, that funny almost-smile on his face. Jim scooted closer to the wall to make room. He only had a twin bed, but he wasn't very big for eleven, after all.

They lay side by side, pressed like sardines in the bed, and studied the glowing plastic constellations a previous tenant left stuck on the ceiling.

"Sometimes I watch them and pretend I'm camping," Jim said. "My mom and dad used to go camping. They took Sam when he was little."

Spock pointed to a spot just to the left of Cassiopeia. "Do you see that star there?"

Jim didn't. In fact, he was pretty sure there wasn't a star stuck there at all. He nodded anyway. "Yes," he said.

"There is a planet just behind it, hidden."

"How do you know that?" Jim asked. Spock didn't reply. They lay in silence until Jim heard Spock let out a long breath, like he'd been holding it.

"We can go camping in the woods this summer," Jim said, changing the subject.

"I will be gone before the snow melts," Spock said.

The words felt like a punch in the gut. "What? Why not? You just got here."

"We cannot remain in one place for very long," Spock said.

"I don't understand," Jim said. "Is it your dad? His job? My mom works nights, you know, at the factory? I bet if your dad asked her she could talk to her boss and get him a job."

Spock rolled onto this side and tucked a hand beneath his face. He gave Jim the kind of look you might give a dog at the pound. "I do not think that will be possible," he said.

Jim sighed. "Well, I'll think of something," he said. "You can't leave. You just can't." He felt an unpleasant clutching sensation at his throat. He swallowed, but it wouldn't go away.

"Spock?" he asked later.

"Yes?"

"I was just checking to see if you were asleep."

"I am still conscious."

"Oh. Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"Where's that stone from? The red one from the other day."

Spock was quiet for so long Jim was sure he'd fallen asleep. When he spoke, he was so quiet Jim could barely hear him over the sound of his own breath.

"Home," Spock said.

They didn't talk anymore after that, and the last thing Jim thought before drifting off was how cold Spock's hand was in his.

Silvery winter light filtered through the curtains, spreading over the floor and across Jim's face. He could just hear his mother in the kitchen, making coffee from the smell of it. She always came in to wake Jim when the coffee was done. Something nagged at the corner of Jim's consciousness. Spock! His mother couldn't find him here. Jim sat bolt upright, casting about the room wildly. But there was no one there. He laid a hand on the mattress next to him. It was warm, and the window was unlocked from the inside.

Jim lay back with a sigh of relief. He pulled the covers up to his chin, closed his eyes, and waited for his mother to call him.

***

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, wrapping his right around the slim outline of Sam's Swiss Army knife.

"Spock?"

"Yes?" Spock sounded distracted. They were in the woods, the silence thick as cotton wool, and Spock had dropped to his knees before a fallen log to examine a mushroom. He was weird like that, Jim thought, curious about the most ordinary things, like the birds or the frail orchid Dolores kept on her windowsill.

"I have an idea." He flipped the knife over in his pocket.

"_Trametes versicolor,_" Spock murmured, breaking off the mushroom and placing it neatly in a little bag.

"Spock, listen."

"What is it?" Spock said, sounding mildly annoyed at the disruption.

"I want to…I think we should be blood brothers."

"Pardon?"

"Blood brothers. I cut my hand and you cut your hand and we bleed and we put the blood together. So some of your blood is in me and some of mine is in you. So no matter where we go…we're together. Kind of." It sounded a lot weirder and a lot girlier when Jim said it out loud. He swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest. Spock just stared.

"Well?" Jim asked. He pulled out the knife then, flipping it open and holding it over his hand.

"I do not think that is a very good idea," Spock said.

"I think it's a great idea," Jim said. He lowered the knife. Leap before looking, said a little voice in his head.

"Jim, please--"

He closed his fist around the blade. For a moment, he felt nothing at all. Then he opened his hand and a thin stripe of red bloomed against his palm, bringing a clean sharp pain with it. He stared at his hand. He heard a gasp.

He looked up at Spock, who was staring at him with a look of surprise on his face. Surprise and….something else.

"Spock?"

Spock's chest rose and fell like a bird's. Then he took a step toward Jim, leaned forward, and _sniffed_.

_"Spock?"_

"Run."

"What-what are you talking about? No."

"Jim, _please._" Spock bit down on his lower lip. Jim could see his teeth gleaming in the low light. His teeth.

"Look, what's wrong with you? Just tell me, maybe I can help, maybe…just stop acting so weird, okay?" He waved his injured hand, flinging fat drops of blood onto the snow.

Spock lunged. Jim had the wild thought that he was going to rip his throat out, but then Spock dropped to the snow with an anguished cry and grabbed Jim's bloodied hand in his. Before Jim could move away, or even think, Spock lifted Jim's hand to his mouth and licked.

Jim gasped, and tried belatedly to pull his hand back, but Spock had his wrist in a grip like a vise, far too strong for such a scrawny kid.

"Spock." He was licking harder now, sucking as the blood came faster. Jim's stomach roiled, and his knees buckled. Spock's free arm shot out and wrapped around Jim's legs, holding him up off the snowy forest floor."Spock," Jim whispered. "Spock, stop. It hurts."

Spock hesitated. He glanced up at Jim, dark eyes wide, and in that moment Jim ripped his hand out of Spock's grasp, grabbed Spock's shoulders, and shoved hard. Jim staggered back, gagging.

Spock gasped for breath, his lips shiny with blood. He opened his mouth and closed it again like a beached fish. "Jim," he whispered.

Jim ran.

***

"Hey Kirk."

"How's your mom, Kirk?"

"Got any big tips lately? My dad says she was looking pretty fine last night at the club."

"Fuck off," Jim said without looking up. The snow was starting to melt, maybe for good this time. He drew his coat tighter around him and walked on.

"Ooooh!" chorused the voices. "Tough guy, Kirk's a tough guy…" They darted down a side street, laughing. Jim's hands curled into fists at his sides.

He was almost home when Gary came out of nowhere, flinging himself headlong into Jim like a bag of wet cement. They fell into the dead, wet grass of Mrs. Michaelson's side yard.

"She's deaf," Gary said next to Jim's ear. "She won't hear you."

He dug his knee into Jim's chest, his hands wrapped around Jim's windpipe. "I should kill you, Kirk," Gary said. His breath smelled sour as milk. "We don't need trash like you in this town." He shifted his weight forward. Jim's lungs strained to inflate against the pressure. The circle of Gary's hands tightened. Black and red spots danced across his face. Jim tried to blink them away, but they wouldn't go. His lungs burned. _Mom,_ he thought. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Gary was gone, along with the weight on his chest. He sat up, coughing, sucking blessed air into his lungs. He looked around for Gary.

He was slumped across the street, leaning up against the curb. His face was blank, but below his chin was a wide red grin, and his shirt was soaked. There was a sound behind Jim, like a twig breaking, and he whirled around. Spock stood in Mrs. Michaelson's driveway, breathing hard the way he had that day in the woods. That day…

"Spock?"

"Shut your eyes, Jim."

"What? Spock, what did you do?"

"Do as I say."

Jim shut his eyes. Tears leaked out from under his lids, and he could feel them making hot trails down his cheeks. "Spock," he whispered.

"Keep them closed. Now, listen. Count to one thousand. When you finish, run home as quickly as you can. Is that clear?"

Jim nodded. He began to count.

***

They were gone the next morning. He knew when he saw the curtains open, the stale light of morning flooding into what had been their living room. By afternoon, there was a faded sign taped to the door, FOR RENT emblazoned on it in deep red letters. Jim stood in front of the sign for a long time. He wanted to rip it off and throw it away, but the landlady came up the stairs then. She smiled at him. Later, she would smile the same sad smile and shake her head. "I'm very sorry," she would say. "There's no forwarding address."

The police never found Gary's body. There was a memorial service in the gym anyway, and Gary's mother cried and wrung her hands, and the PTA served cookies and hot chocolate. Jim didn't go.

He also didn't stop thinking about Spock, not at first, and not for a while after. But then winter melted into spring, and then the trees sprouted and everywhere began to smell good and green, and Jim's mother bought him a tent and told him she was thinking about taking them camping as soon as school let out. So on the day the letter came, he wasn't exactly paying attention.

He was lying on the living room floor doing his math homework when the mail lady shoved the mail through the slot. She waved at Jim from the other side of the living room window and continued on. He was about to turn back to his worksheet when something caught his eye.

It was an inkstained blue envelope. It looked as if it had been reused; the corners had been mended with tape, and an old address scratched out. Jim's was scrawled next to it in cramped handwriting. He plucked it out of the pile. It had a pleasant heft to it, and Jim slid his index finger under the flap and tore it open.

A red stone fell out. Jim grabbed it and closed his fist around so tightly that his old scar hurt. It was warm, like something heated from inside. Still clutching the stone, he pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper and opened it, eyes skating over lines and lines of dashes and dots. A slow smile spread across Jim's face.

The letter was in morse code.


End file.
